


Man behind the Mirage

by NevaRYadL



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bloodhound thinks about Mirage and realizes that he actually has depth, Character Study, Gen, Mentioned Character Death (Elliot's siblings), ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevaRYadL/pseuds/NevaRYadL
Summary: Bloodhound thought very little about Mirage. And then they thought about him a little. Bloodhound thinks a lot of Elliot Witt.
Kudos: 19





	Man behind the Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Mentioned character death, mentioned food, mentioned depression and anxiety
> 
> My piece for the apex fan zine! Found here https://gumroad.com/l/kutCp

Trickster. Crowd pleaser. Miklimunr.

These were Bloodhound's first thoughts about Elliot 'Mirage' Witt. That was all that they thought about him. Trickster, fooling the eyes with the technology strapped around his arms. Crowd pleaser, preening and posing for the cameras like a narcissistic show bird of bright and vivid colors. _Miklimunr_ , always running his mouth so much, you can almost think that he had something to say instead of a hundred empty ones. These were not good impressions, and Bloodhound came to the sound conclusion that there was nothing to Mirage except an empty facade. If there was anything to the man, then his all encompassing mask that hid his real person and nature hid it deeper than Bloodhound cared to dig to find. Mirage was just a face, one that they saw often, but just a face, just a mask, just an empty thing.

Then he became a constant.

Eight seasons. Not many people survived that long. As much as people wanted to ignore it, not think about it, but the Apex games was a bloodsport. People died, people got seriously hurt, people killed, people seriously injured others. Bloodhound had pulled a reluctant Crypto to his feet after he had broken two ribs in his first game. The faces came and went at a regular pace, enough that it was simply no use trying to remember faces, names, backstories, anything but the 'stage names' so that they could do callouts, pings and thanks. But eight seasons meant that Mirage was around long enough to warrant remembering him, hollow as he was, hiding his true nature as he was.

But eight seasons was a long enough time to start seeing the cracks in the mask, see it slip enough to know that it was not perfect. To sometimes see the man underneath. And Mirage and Elliot Witt were two very different men indeed. 

One preening for the cameras, smiling and posing and blowing kisses and winks to screaming adoring fans that the man had built up with rapid speed because of his looks… the other subconsciously thumbed at the scars on his face, made from his earlier seasons, or picked and twirled and pulled at his curls to make them into more tameable shapes. Mirage kept his head held up, meeting the eyes of anyone that looked his way… Elliot kept his head down and looked at his feet, or would look at his twiddling thumbs or nervously fiddling fingers. Mirage talked loud and proud and shameless and owned his stutter like a badge of pride, dominating a conversation until all eyes were on him… Elliot struggled to make it through a few words and obviously burned with shame when he stuttered or struggled to get a word out. Mirage made you look at him and made you pay attention to him even if that attention was bad… Elliot tried his hardest to stay out of the way and tried his hardest to redirect your attention elsewhere as soon as possible.

Two very different sides of Elliot ‘Mirage’ Witt. You only ever saw Elliot for brief moments though. The cracks in his mask that he tried so hard to claim was his face, his person, who he really was. And for a while, Bloodhound’s first sour opinion of him was lessened somewhat. Obviously a man with ‘two faces’ so to speak, had them for a reason and those reasons were genuinely very valid. Fear, a means of surviving but physically and or mentally, for safety, or just an acknowledgement that their true person was not welcomed and they had to don a more ‘pleasant’ persona simply to not invoke peer ire. Bloodhound did not think little of those people, or Mirage, and to see those cracks and realize that the mask was not covering something hollow, but a scared man with faults and worries and anxieties? Well, they did not think so little of him.

When they stopped thinking so little of him, they started seeing his strengths.

Such as the mask actually was a rather impressive strategy. Where others saw a preening, prideful fool, they let their guards down and got sloppy. Mirage took advantage of these people that saw an easy target and often quickly took them out. When they saw one of his holograms and saw the ‘weak fool’ and would go blindly after him, not noticing the real Mirage with his sights trained on the back of their skulls. Bloodhound likened his ‘flashiness’ less like flair and more like a flashbang. The light would set your ears ringing and your eyes watering and flooded with lights, leaving you stunned and helpless to Mirage’s real attack that would end you.

They respected that, they respected his skills in combat and out in the field. A trickster, much like Loki in fact, who knew he did not have the skills for a frontal assault like Bangalore or Gibraltar, so he devised cunning tricks and traps instead to fight. Mirage knew how to play his strengths and he did so with flying, brilliant colors.

But the man underneath… not Mirage but Elliot Witt… they could not say about his actual person. The cracks in his mask were so small and sometimes they would not appear for days. They had seen them enough to know he was there, underneath, but not enough to know him. Which was a shame, really. They viewed Mirage as a capable warrior, if perhaps sometimes grating on the nerves to play that persona that aided him so in his slatra. But Elliot Witt? They simply did not know. They could not say.

Eight seasons was a long time.

It started to feel like a long hunt. They were stalking their prey with painstaking slowness, not by their own design, but by their very skittish and very well hidden prey. Though in this case, Bloodhound was not hunting a creature, but instead soaking up what little information that they could about Mirage’s real personality. They had respect for his skills on the battlefield, but they found themself actually impressed and even slightly endeared by how hard of a hunt that Elliot was making this. No other hunt had made Bloodhound struggle like this, and in no other hunt had Bloodhound thrown themself into quite as vigorously as this one. Elliot presented a challenge that they were enthralled in, throwing themself into, and they actually found themself challenged unlike anything else that they had attempted. 

This ‘prey’ was skittish, exceptionally skilled at hiding and could easily disappear in an instant if captured. If it were an actual beast, Bloodhound would have been honored to have its skull adorn their home and to wear their pelt with pride. They would settle with simply knowing Elliot though. Though, being the one that actually knew the man underneath the false mask of Mirage would be a badge of honor in of itself, since everyone else seemed convinced that Mirage was the real face. So eager to take things at face value or liking Mirage (though to be honest Mirage was an acquired taste, once you knew him you liked him and eight seasons was a long time). But they knew better and they were far too invested into the prize than to give up the chase just yet.

It was crumbs at first, this growing thing between them. And Bloodhound had to remind themself to keep each one because a clue now that seemed useless could be a small piece of a much larger something later.

Elliot favored pork chops, he did so because it was a recipe from his mother. From this, Bloodhound gathered that Elliot very much loved his mother. Using this clue, a few pointed words, and they managed to worm out from Elliot that she was very sick. What exactly, he was very tiplipped about, almost smoothly brushing off any further inquiries either from others or gently and cleverly worded proddings from Bloodhound. Elliot also almost never breathed a word about his father, making Bloodhound believe that he was dead or rather unloved but not hated. Elliot also seemed to clam up whenever siblings were mentioned, getting this rather depressed look to his eyes that he carefully kept off his face. This made Bloodhound believe that Elliot had a sibling or siblings, and that they were well out of his reach or dead and they were loved and missed.

Crumbs, pieces, that Bloodhound used to grow the picture of Elliot Witt while he kept masquerading as Mirage. Tracks to the prey. The man behind the man, so to speak. Every good hunter took note of every track and Bloodhound? Bloodhound was the best.

Holo-pilot technology was from his mother, again suggesting a fondness and love, and his care and maintenance and his eagerness to show off, it an unabashed and unashamed love for his mother. Elliot had no long lasting relationships and his very bold and very forward attempts to garner someone’s attention was much like a flash fire, bright and hot but only for a moment before either the other people left or Elliot just let himself out. Such behavior was typical of someone that either had commitment issues or perhaps was so worried about potential pain after attachment that they ended things before it could get that far. Based on what they had seen of Elliot thus far, they were more inclined to believe that latter rather than the former.

So… a man that hid behind a flashy persona… who loved his mother but apparently lost everyone else in his family… who loved with a passion and flair and then cut himself off before any chance of getting hurt could happen… who stuttered and mumbled and twiddled his fingers…

“You uh… you’ve been staring at me for awhile now, Houndie,” Mirage said to them as they sat in the drop shit. First ones in because they were the winners, along with a tired Lifeline that was passed out in her seat a bit away. He gave them a wink. “Take a picture, baby, it lasts longer.”

“Hmm.”

“... But se-sir-- but for real, Hound, uh… you’re starting to freak me out,” Elliot chuckled nervously.

“I am thinking,” Bloodhound settled on.

“Uh… thinkin’ about whaaaattt?” Mirage asked, grinning lopsidedly.

“You.”

“Me?”

“You. You are a fascinating creature to study, Elliot,” Bloodhound said, grinning behind the respirator when Elliot started. Elliot was not used to any sort of praise that did not include some bite or backhand. Nor was anyone used to Bloodhound using anything other than monikors. Perhaps they were abusing what they knew of the man a little, but there was something almost… cute about this man being flustered.

“O-oh?” Elliot asked.

“Yes. You have more depth than you let on, Elliot,” Bloodhound said. “And you are very skittish about anyone finding out about it. ‘Hunting’ down this information has proven an interesting test of my skills.”

“Um… I uh… that is both creepy and flattering,” Elliot chuckled nervously.

“Do not worry. You are a worthy fighter in the arena, Elliot. I wish you no ill will nor harm and I have no information that would cause your harm or even distress. Not to mention… knowing what I know now, I would like to be your friend.”

“Me?” Elliot asked and it was sad and cute how awestruck he was by that.

“Yes, you, Elliot. I think we will be good friends. Unless you would prefer not too…?”

“Y-yeah! That would be awesome, Houndie!” Elliot beamed.

“I am glad.”

Mirage was a capable fighter in the ring and they could respect him. Some discipline and maturing and Mirage would be someone that Bloodhound looked forward to working with and against in the arena. Until then, he only had their respect for his trickery and skills and nothing else.

Elliot Witt was a kind, shy man that they very much wished to get to know better. It would take some gentle coaxing, but Bloodhound hoped to be that man’s friend in the future.


End file.
